In Vino Veritas
by Crinklybrownleaves
Summary: This started life as a drabble, based on bugs' prompt: Alcohol was involved. But it grew into something longer. Set during S1E6, when Jean gets at the sherry. After that, it's all imagination.


**Thanks to majsmom for the original idea, and for letting me run with it!**

"And now I'm going to bed." Jean levered herself off the couch, swaying a little, and on impulse grabbed the bottle of sherry. She felt Lucien's gaze following her hips, and she paused to steady herself at the foot of the stairs.

Mattie's voice was quiet but still audible. "You need to be very nice to her."

She knew it was mostly the sherry that made her head further along the hallway, but she was resolved to take a risk. Robert was not the man for her. There was a reason beyond the job why she stayed in this house, with this infuriating man. Maybe she wouldn't need a hundred chances.

xxxxxx

He stopped, mouth open, halfway through pulling off his tie, as he barrelled through the doorway to his bedroom. He leaned back heavily against the door in shock, the silence broken by the harsh click of the latch.

"Jean?" His brain tried to make sense of what he saw. He dismissed his better thoughts: she wasn't putting laundry away, or rifling through his papers again. The room was too dark for that, and why then would she be sitting on his bed, feet tucked under her and a glass in her hand? One lamp was lit and she was leaning against the headboard. Only one possibility remained; she was waiting here for him.

"Lucien," she replied, in a low voice he scarcely recognised. No chiding or banter here: despite the drink she seemed totally in control. Jean looked at him from beneath her eyelids, and he took in the sherry bottle on the bedside table, and the extra button that seemed to have come undone on her blouse.

The pale sliver of skin it revealed drew him closer. Her familiar perfume seemed stronger, more enticing. He perched awkwardly on the bed beside her.

"Would you like a drink?" she asked, the words slightly slurred. She took a sip herself from what looked like his whisky glass, with an inch of sherry in the bottom, then offered it to him. He took it but set it down untasted.

"I think you've had enough for one night," he replied, but his smile softened the words, and he reached out to cup her cheek affectionately. She took his hand and kissed it lightly. He stared at her in wonder, not yet fully realising what this was.

"Please, Lucien," she whispered, and he heard the aching need behind her words. She smoothed her fingers down his beard, curious to know how it felt. She hesitated, then dipped a little further, just inside the open collar of his shirt, and rested her cool hand on his collarbone.

He swallowed hard. It would be wrong to respond, surely, when she had plainly been drinking, but when she stroked his neck like that and her blouse fell open even more, and...oh, he was finding it very hard to drag his gaze away from the soft rise of her breast, and the satin of her brassiere peeking out.

He tucked a stray curl behind her ear and ran his fingertips through her hair, aware that he was playing with fire.

"I don't want to settle for a dull, safe life, Lucien." She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "I want to feel real." She rested her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped one arm around her, hitching her in a little closer.

A wave of desire flowed over him and he closed his eyes. Only that afternoon he had bragged about wanting to sleep with Joy, and now he was holding his housekeeper tightly against him and wanting her too much. And what about Mei Lin, who could be suffering God knows what while he nuzzled Jean's hair? What sort of a man was he?

That moment of self-loathing made him reckless to find out. He touched his lips to hers very gently, half-hoping she would come to her senses and push him away, and they could go back to pretending they hadn't noticed the way they had flirted together, or the crackle of heat between them when they brushed against each other in the kitchen.

Jean froze for a moment, suddenly sober, then kissed him back. Every sensation was new and exciting: the softness of his lips pressed against hers, the sharp prickle of his beard on her face, the scent of his skin. And from the groan that rumbled in his throat, he was finding this as overwhelming as she was.

She gripped the shirt on his back, trying to pull him closer, and he shifted right against her. With her hand in the curls on the back of his head, she drew him down into more kisses; sometimes slow as they explored half-forgotten sensations, sometimes more urgent as his tongue slid against hers and the flutter in her belly intensified. She was losing herself in the warmth of his arms, adrift somewhere where she didn't have to think or worry or regret - just feel.

He dipped his head down to her chest, kissing the smooth curve of her breast, nosing aside her blouse. Hands slid over the backs of her knees, tickling and soothing, she hardly knew which. The roughness of his fingertips caught on her stockings as he eased under the hem of her skirt.

She flushed with sudden heat, and writhed discontentedly under his hands. They were wearing far too many clothes. She plucked at the buttons on his shirt until it fell open. He made short work of her blouse and brassiere, while she tugged at his singlet until finally she could touch his bare chest.

She traced swirls slowly across his golden skin, feeling muscles only previously glimpsed. She glanced up, meeting his darkening eyes, and he smiled his gentle smile.

"Jean. Let me give you this pleasure." His thumb brushed across her nipple.

"But..." She shrank away from him. "Don't you want...?" She glanced at the obvious bulge in his trousers.

"I want to, Jean, very much, but you're not exactly sober. I don't want you to have regrets in the morning."

She shook her head. "I won't," she insisted.

"Neither of us are going anywhere, Jean. There'll be other times, if you want that. Now, where was I?" He grinned at her and pulled her into his side.

She found a comfortable place under his arm, her dark hair spread across his bicep and one hand sprawled across his belly. He slipped his knee between her legs, making space for his hand to slide against her thigh, pushing her skirt up as he went. His thumb settled to stroking the smooth, damp skin above her stocking tops; lips closed round a soft, pink nipple, suckling it gently to a peak.

Then, a flood of pleasure over her, heat filling her limbs. The brush of beard on skin, setting every nerve ending tingling. Arching up to graze against his hip. Her breath caught and stomach lurched.

He moved over her, solid and weighty, pressing her into the mattress in a way that was curiously comforting. She looped her arms around his neck, clinging on as if she might fall.

Fingertips traced softly at the edge of her underwear, then deftly pulled them down and off in one movement. Delicately, almost too gently, his thumb circled and fingers parted soft folds. Such slow torture, such exquisite patience. Passion bloomed in her, uncontrolled and wondrous.

Jean heard her voice rising and turned her face to his side, stifling her cries against his skin.

He grinned in satisfaction as he felt her quiver against him. His lips tugged at her breast, fingers slid deep inside, she ground against his hand. Opening wider, coaxing him deeper still, she gasped his name as blinding surges of light and heat washed over her, pleasure spiralling out from deep within her belly.

Weak as a kitten, she could scarcely push her damp hair out of her eyes. Lucien grinned at her as she came back to reality, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Beautiful," he murmured.

"What about you?" She fretted as she caught her breath again.

"I'm fine," he lied smoothly, but she saw through that. "You, however, are going to have a terrible headache in the morning."

He slipped out of bed and changed into pyjama trousers, and trotted to the kitchen for a glass of water. When he returned with it, he found Jean gathering up her clothes.

"Stay?" he asked, an edge of uncertainty in his voice. He held out the glass and she drank. "Stay with me."

His blue eyes held such need she couldn't say no: a longing for assurance, for comfort, for more intimacy than just sex.

She nodded slowly.

xxxxx

"So that's a no for me then, is it, Jean?" She had tried to let Robert down gently, and he was a gentleman about it.

She glanced away. "I'm needed here." Better that he didn't know more.

As she showed him to the door her chance for safety and comfort went with him, while behind her stood danger and uncertainty...and need. She had made her choice.


End file.
